Chasing the Chaser - Molly and Arthur

8

Molly stood mired in the muddy, wooded lane, cold rain dripping from the ends of her hair, coursing down her face. Aunt Muriel would have said she looked like a drowned rat. She pushed her sopping hair out of her eyes and blinked through the rain. Yes, she had seen it correctly. Arthur Weasley had just arrived in his Ford Anglia. He had thrown its door open and he was trotting through the mud, tearing off his jacket in spite of the downpour.

"Stars, Molly!" he was calling. "What are you doing out here in Wiltshire? What's happened to your wand?"

As he reached her, he draped his jacket over her shoulders. Its flannel lining was still infused with the heat of him, and it was the only warmth she had. As she went to thank him, she surprised them both by bursting into tears.

Arthur dropped an arm around her. "Come here, you're freezing. Look at your shoes. You've been walking for miles like this, haven't you?"

She still couldn't answer, gasping on sobs.

"Has – anyone – hurt you?" he said, alarmed, glancing up and down the road.

She shook her head. "Just cold," she hiccoughed.

He was pulling the car's passenger door open and easing her inside. "Get settled in there. I think I put our picnic blanket in the boot. I'll fetch it. You get those shoes off."

The door closed behind him, so heavy it always sounded like it had been slammed. Finally out of the rain, Molly breathed through the last of her tears. Poor Arthur, greeted with thanks like that.

With a shuddering sigh she wrenched her shoes off to see that her tights were a dead loss, torn and saturated with mud. Peeling them off, she dropped them with a squelch on the car's mat. It was such a relief she fought her way out of her drenched jumper and her clinging, transparent white shirt too. She pulled Arthur's jacket close around herself, shivering, still fully dressed but with just her navy camisole for a top and her wool skirt for the bottom. The jacket was large enough for her to curl her entire body inside of it. Her hands clamped over her toes, no heat between them.

That was how Arthur found her, tiny, compact, her wet head all he could see of her. He crashed onto the seat beside her, fumbling with the blanket. "There isn't much bulk to it, I'm afraid. But once we get it around you, you should be able to charge up some heat, especially if you keep trembling like that. Did you know that's how shivering works? It's your muscles burning energy to produce heat. I read it in a Muggle medical textbook."

Arthur passed the blanket behind her, draping it over her like a cloak, pressing it to her arms with the palms of his hands. "Is it any better?" he said, frowning as she continued to shiver.

She gave her head a single shake. "It's only warm where you're touching me."

Arthur gulped. "Oh – "

"Sorry, Arthur, but – " Her arms darted out from inside the jacket and clasped themselves around his torso. "You're so warm. And I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life."

His jacket was mashed between them, keeping her legs and feet covered. The blanket stayed on her shoulders, enfolding both Molly and Arthur now, their fronts pressed together, the heat of his pounding heart burning against her. It wasn't until he rubbed his hands against her back beneath the blanket that Arthur realized how little she was now wearing.

He gave a concerned hum and sat back a little.

"It's alright," she said, holding him tighter, still shivering. "I'm decent enough. Pretend you found me at the beach in a very odd bathing costume."

"Right. Like a mermaid," he said.

Molly scoffed. "Thanks."

"No, no. Not like one of the Hogwarts mermaids," he rushed to say. "Like a mermaid from Denmark. Have you seen them? They're lovely. Even Muggles like them. I've heard there are Danish mermaids with proper ginger hair and everything."